


Under X

by shatou



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autopsy, Case Fic, Dead Body, M/M, Mentions of death/suicide and crime fiction typical violence, New tags will be added, Other, Some graphic description of internal organs, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatou/pseuds/shatou
Summary: Detective Loki Lindberg is trying to make a serial murder case out of apparent suicides, and his team is forced to accommodate Agent Thor Overgaard from the Criminal Branch of the federal bureau.





	1. Loki I

**Author's Note:**

> Names, places, events, etc. are all fictional or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, events, etc. is purely coincidental.
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John Doe has been killed and, I have reasons to believe, by Harris's murderer. Do what you must afterwards, chief. This case is mine."
> 
> Danvers snorts and Loki wonders if she hears his desperation. "That's cute, Lindberg, but I'm not your biggest threat."

"Explain."

Danvers all but throws the envelope on the table. Loki resists the urge to rub a hand over his face. "Chief, I did not know it was on federal premise," he says, honest for once.

"Oh, I know you didn't. Even you aren't that reckless." Danvers scoffs and crosses her arms. She sizes him up with a look that makes Loki cross his arms as well. "How is this a homicide? Explain _ that _."

He blinks. "It's obvious."

"Lindberg, I don't have time for your taunts. I know you bypassed my permission to take the case for yourself. That qualifies you for a suspension."

"Alright." Loki sighs. "It's linked to the Harris case."

Danvers stares at him like he’d just flung a dead mouse on her table. "You mean the suicide that you've been trying to solve as murder for the past two months."

His jaw squares. "Chief, we've been over this."

"We have. Else I wouldn't have let you keep it, but honestly, Lindberg, you test me," she says, and adds hastily before Loki even opens his mouth. "You can't do something like this just to keep your case from getting cold. Case that you couldn't even make in the first place."

"That's not what I was trying to do," Loki says through gritted teeth and breathes out harsh through his nose. "You wanted me to explain. I'll explain. The John Doe was hanged using the same brand of cord. Time of death, around midnight. And Harris's death was not suicide, mind you. He died of cardiac arrest, yet arranged on a noose—"

"There has been talks that you tampered with lab evidence—"

"I did _not_," Loki flares. "They messed up last time. Miriam," he adds, sure it will create an effect. The chief knows this; she led that case. The forensic boys grossly overlooked a mismatched bloodstain and missed what could have been a golden swab of a rapist's DNA. That case now rests close and unsolved.

Instead the chief just shakes her head and slams a palm on the Feds envelope on the table. "I'm not here to discuss Miriam or Harris."

"Neither am I. John Doe has been killed and, I have reasons to believe, by Harris's murderer. Do what you must afterwards, chief. This case is mine."

Danvers snorts and Loki wonders if she hears his desperation. "That's cute, Lindberg, but I'm not your biggest threat."

It takes a moment to sink in, which is longer than needed. Loki narrows his eyes. "Feds? No, impossible. I thought— It should've just been under their jurisdiction, but the case— It's not a violent crime, it's not organized, it's—"

"Last time I checked you weren't Chair of the Federal Police." The chief looks almost weary.

"You can't let them take this!"

"Lindberg." Her voice calmly cut the reverberation of his raised voice. Danvers sends him a warning look. He backs down with a muttered, _Sorry, chief_, glaring at the window. The sky looks bright and blue and disgustingly cheerful. Loki doesn't intend to look back when the chief speaks again, but she says, "I didn't let them take the case," and his gaze whips towards her.

"You mean—"

"I'm not doing it for you, if that's what you're thinking. I did secure a deal. Joint operation."

Loki knits his brows together. "Do I have to work with their team now?"

It's rather frightening how Danvers chuckle without smiling. "No. They work with yours."


	2. Thor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I do have one last question, actually." He plants a palm firm on the door to keep it open. "Why do you keep calling me 'special agent'? I said, just Thor is fine."
> 
> The detective stares at him. Then he chuckles, shakes his head, and turns to the corridor, leaving Thor there with his open door.
> 
> "My first name is Loki," he calls back, sing-song, "if you insists, special agent."
> 
> _That doesn't answer my question_. Well, it's an answer he wants, anyway.

Thor drinks his scalding coffee at the window. The crisp air has a bite to it, but where there is sun on the sill it’s toasty warm. It’s 6 AM, and Fury’s earlier call at two in the morning still leaves him scratching his head. Fury has informed him that he's supposed to go to the PD today for a briefing of sorts. It's a murder; the victim was found hanging from a tree just outside the National Park and Nature Conserve on the outskirts of Ny-Asgard. Naturally it’s a federal case. 'A one-off?', Thor has asked, which was met with a sharp pause. 'Maybe,' Fury has replied, cryptically, before the call ended.

He does wonder why Fury has agreed to letting the locals have most of the control. Not that he complains - it's a good change. But working completely alone with a team of locals is unheard of for his division. Feels like walking into a lion's den. _ Or lionness_, Thor muses. Ny-Asgard is one of the first states to appoint a chairwoman to their PD. Carol Danvers. Can't forget that; can’t forget _her_.

By the time Thor has gotten dressed, his phone is buzzing with new messages from Fury.

[Don't fuck it up.] NF  
[And don't let them bait you into bragging about daddy.] NF

Thor frowns. Five years in the force and Fury still thinks he's going to get up in arms over Senator Odin Overgaard's yet another winning speech last Wednesday.

[I don't care about politics.] TO

Fury, predictably, sees and doesn't reply. Thor finishes his morning ritual with a protein bar for a snack. Caffeine and sugar together does wonder for mental clarity, something he feels like he'll be needing in extra today.

On his way down the grand hall of Ny-Asgard State Police Department, the feeling of walking into a lioness' den grows tenfold. A young cop eyes him as he walks by and Thor smiles with a two-finger salute. The cop just averts his eyes and scuttles away. _ Huh _. Thor shrugs to himself. Maybe the kid's nervous.

He checks his phone in the elevator; there's a new text.

[ur on lindbergs case?] BV

[Lindberg? Fury told me it's a john doe] TO

[lol no lindberg is the DI u dumb] BV

[Ru. Don't call me dumb :-(] TO  
[You know this Lindberg?] TO

[ye funny lil guy ugh] BV

[Haha what's wrong, don't like him? Should I be scared?] TO

The elevator _ ding _ s open and Thor pockets his phone before Ru replies. _ Third floor, left turn, fourth door to the right. _ His footsteps squeaked on the shiny floor of the all too quiet corridor. There's the room he needs, and Thor knocks once before just pressing the door handle. The office looks shared; two desks back to back, monitors, sprawling papers. There's a board covered in pinned photos and post-it notes— No, there are two boards like that. "Good morning," he says. "Officer?"

"Lindberg." The man turns around, unsmiling. "Detective Lindberg."

_ Sleek _ , Thor thinks, eyeing the slicked-back, dark curls. He smiles faintly, holding out his hand. "Detective Lindberg. My bad." He searches for a name tag only to get _ L. Lindberg _ on the detective's uniform. "Thor Overgaard," he offers his own, vaguely hoping for a first name in return. "Nice to meet you."

Lindberg curls his lips and all Thor can think about is how it emphasizes his high cheekbones. Pale eyes narrow as Lindberg seems to eye him back. "Agent Overgaard," the detective nods. "Enchanted." Thor feels the grip of slender fingers and realizes his own hand has gone slack in the handshake. Yeah, enchanted alright. 

"Take a seat, special agent." Lindberg says, gesturing towards one of the chairs available. 

"Just Thor is fine, really." Thor oversteps a cardboard box on the ground and remains standing. Lindberg cocks a brow but doesn't question it; he turns towards one of the boards instead. "I'll have you know, I didn't expect you feds to pull a joint op."

"And I didn't expect this to be a two-person meeting," Thor quips, striding towards the board until he's right beside the other. "I was told I'll be working with a team."

"You will." Lindberg says. For a second he pauses, and Thor thinks he's going to give an explanation, but he simply shifts and starts talking. "Alright, special agent, no more trifles. I'll get to the point. We're dealing with a serial murderer. This is our first victim, Harris Storm. 34 years old, real estate agent, unmarried.” The post-mortem photo shows a man with ratty hair and pasty skin, face entirely too long with hollow cheeks, aquiline nose and an underbite. His sunken eyes boast surprisingly thick lashes. In his cold eternal sleep he looks almost boredly motionless. “He was found hanging in his own apartment, but he didn't die from asphyxiation. The scene has been arranged to look like a suicide."

A frown sets in. The tip of the pen stills on his notebook. "What's the cause of death?"

"Cardiac arrest."

"Drug induced?"

"Most probably."

"What do you mean, 'most probably’?"

"I mean it's not confirmed," the detective sighs through his nose. "No evidence was found. The victim was reported suicide at first, so autopsy was done at least two days after he was dead. Had I not…" Lindberg trails off and seems to catch himself. "In any case, there were traces of sedative in his bloodstream and no sign of struggle—"

"How is it that you're involved, Lindberg?"

"You don't need to know that." Lindberg pauses and says with an air of annoyance. _ Misplaced_, Thor thinks.

"I want to know," Thor insists. It's his turn to shift, balancing his weight on both feet. He towers over the local detective by a little, and he knows he's blocking the light, the way he's crowding the other against the wall. 

Lindberg doesn't look fazed in the least, though. "If I must remind you, you are here on _ my _ team as a co-worker. Don't presume to order me around, special agent."

"Hey, no need to be defensive," Thor holds up his hands, notebook and pen and all, but he can't help a sardonic edge in his voice as well. "No, it's just that the way you phrased it sounds like you discovered it off hours. It's unusual and, in some cases, suspicious." Thor lowers his hands now, easing the almost-threat off with an eye-crinkling smile.

"Storm is a distant relative," Lindberg replied offhandedly. "Happy now, special agent?" 

"Oh, no. I'm sor—"

"Very distant. I never knew he existed until he died. Don't give me any of that; you're wasting our time. Let's get on."

"I—" Thor exhales. "...Yeah."

"Right. And now, this is important, because this time’s victim, our John Doe, is very likely connected to the case." A thrilled air resurged around the detective and, by gods, he looks wickedly delighted as he sweeps his hand in an arc from a photo to another one at the other end of the board. They were both photos of nooses, the same simple hangman’s knot. “The weave of the rope is identical. They’re likely from the same spool, or at least from the same batch, suggesting one same killer. Now here,” Lindberg taps on another post-mortem photo, “is our National Park Doe. Not much physical similarities, I know. They're both male, at least, so that might be something."

Thor nods as he jots down key points. "O-kay. But this time he has been found sooner, so you should be able to detect the real cause of death, and maybe establish a victim profile."

"Exactly. We should actually be getting autopsy reports today," Lindberg finishes off proudly and... Did he actually look kind of impressed for a second there? "Any questions, special agent?"

"Yes, uh." Thor closes the notebook and looks up to catch the detective's gaze, pleased that Lindberg doesn't shy away from his eyes. "Have you got any suspects?"

"After looking into National Park Doe we will," the detective replies smoothly, but Thor isn't easily fooled.

"Have you established a suspect profile, then?" He presses. "Motives? Modus operandi?"

Lindberg pauses a beat. Just when Thor is starting to think the man is caught off guard, Lindberg leans in. His hand lays warm and light on Thor's shoulder. "That's where you come in, special agent." He smiles, and goddamnit, Thor just nods. "Anything else, before we go to the lab?"

Lindberg doesn't wait for an answer, as if it's just a rhetorical question. Thor catches up just in time for Lindberg to hold the door for him, and he stops there. "I do have one last question, actually." He plants a palm firm on the door to keep it open. "Why do you keep calling me 'special agent'? I said, just Thor is fine."

The detective stares at him. Then he chuckles, shakes his head, and turns to the corridor, leaving Thor there with his open door.

"My first name is Loki," he calls back, sing-song, "if you insists, special agent."

_ That doesn't answer my question _. Well, it's an answer he wants, anyway. Thor hastens his step, pulling out his phone briefly to look at Ru's reply from way earlier.

[meh its fine hes just a little nuts] BV  
[be careful tho lmao he wont scare u but YOU might like him a lil too much] BV

Too little, too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DI: Detective Inspector  
John Doe: usually refers to an unidentified male victim
> 
> The country of Yggdrasil, its legal system and jurisdictions are all fictional but based on a federal system (less like the US and more like Belgium or Germany). In this universe the country exists on Earth somewhere in Northern Europe.
> 
> If you're on mobile and can't hover your cursor over it: BV/Ru is Brunnhilde Valery.


	3. Loki III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hello. My name's Thor. Thor Overgaard. I'm from the federal bureau, Criminal Branch. Pleased to work with you, Doctor..."
> 
> Cho and Strange say their name in chorus. No handshakes; they have their hands full, with someone’s bowels to top it off. 
> 
> Loki finds himself slightly annoyed by that impeccable smile Thor wears. It was a good decision, to hold the briefing alone. 
> 
> Wanda looks over and shrugs. "Anything but Doctor Maximoff. It reminds me of why I dropped out of med school.”

The lab is brightly lit and completely silent save for the droning of the GC-MS. Two figures hunch over the body, half covered in a bag, laid on the stainless steel table; a third silhouette almost motionless by the monitor. The sound of his and Thor’s footsteps feels almost jarring as Loki intrudes the lab.

"Good morning, Cho, Wanda," he nods to the far corner, where the redhead sits looking intently at the screen, muttering and typing and clicking, barely acknowledging his presence. Loki ends with, "Strange," which earns him a wrinkled mumble of _It’s_ Doctor_ Strange_. "How’s identification?"

"Dental and fingerprints," Strange rumbles. “And no missing person match, yet.”

"Vision thinks the perp has taken the victim's wallet with him, so no luck. His team is scouring the woodland area where he's found. They might find something soon. It’s just unfortunate that it’s rained last night," Cho says, not looking up. "They only got permission this morning. You know, it's under federal..." She flashes him a smile that freezes instantly, her gaze no doubt landing on the federal agent tailing him. Strange notices and follows suit, brows raised. Wanda is staring by the time Loki glances at her. Loki says nothing for a moment as he watches Thor in anticipation. He doesn't know whether he should be surprised when the agent, unintimidated, greets with a smile. "Hello. My name's Thor. Thor Overgaard. I'm from the federal bureau, Criminal Branch. Pleased to work with you, Doctor..."

Cho and Strange say their name in chorus. No handshakes; they have their hands full, with someone’s bowels to top it off. 

Loki finds himself slightly annoyed by that impeccable smile Thor wears. It was a good decision, to hold the briefing alone. 

Wanda looks over and shrugs. "Anything but Doctor Maximoff. It reminds me of why I dropped out of med school. Now come over here, Kie. I have something for you," her lips curls up.

Loki departs immediately, not waiting for Thor to follow. He strides past the GC-MS and towards the monitor. "He died of poison, right?"

"No. Chill," Wanda shushes. "No trace of drug. But, sedatives." Loki leans back with a hum. He ignores the slightly hurt look Thor sends him. Wanda continues, "It's not definitive, but don't be disappointed yet. The urine test was a failure, because it’s been so long, so we went for his hair. It took longer.”

“And?”

“It’s ketamine. Not even overdose. It's admitted to medical precision, for anesthesia."

"Meaning he was sedated before being killed," Loki says victoriously. “It’s premeditated, and professional at that.”

There's a particularly disgusting sound of meaty wet from one corner and a clink of metal. Thor strides back to the surgical table. Loki comes to stand at the other end of it, peering down at the lifeless visage. John Doe looks to be around late twenties, skin slightly bronzed, dirty blond waves laying in disarray across thin brows. Filled cheeks on a broad square face give the impression of a higher fat to muscle ratio in body mass, but a look at his body would tell otherwise. Lean and toned, his abs and arms suggest intense levels of activity. More than healthy; he was athletic.

"What else have you got?" Thor asks.

Cho volunteers the answer. “There was no defensive wounds. Feet had some aged blisters but he’s unmarred otherwise. No struggle, and he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts when he was found. His own clothes, worn and old, and a bit too cold for the area.”

“Sedated at home then brought to the the woodlands to hang,” Loki muses. 

Thor nods pensively. “You said blistered feet. What about his shoes?”

“Oh, he wasn’t wearing any. Socks yes, but no shoes,” Cho says, adding hastily. “We’ve taken notice. The scene team is searching the area.”

“That’s odd,” Thor hums. He reaches over and zips the body bag all the way down to the victim’s feet. Terribly ugly feet, in fact, with calloused knuckles, dull purple bruises and deformed toenails. A bony bump protrudes from the base of the big toe.

“He does ballet,” Thor says as the room goes very still.

—

Vision's team comes back in the early evening with little more to add to their scant report. No shoes, no car tracks, no foreign dirt - nothing substantial retrieved, not after that rainpour. Naturally it doesn’t qualify for any kind of federal operation, not even access to the federal database of fingerprints. All the better, Loki thinks. It’s not supposed to be _ anything _ federal, from the get-go. The lukewarm reaction they get at the federal police division doesn’t bother him one bit, but it does Thor, as it seems.

“Chief got us a statewide search,” he says as he takes his seat beside Thor. They’re alone. At nine in the evening it’s predictably quiet around in the precinct. Loki continues to relay as if unaware of Thor’s lack of response. “Conservatories, dance companies and hobbyist associations have been notified. The search is bound to overlap with a missing person report at some point, really. There aren’t that many ballerino around.”

“That what you call a male ballet dancer?” Thor asks absently, and Loki almost smiles.

“It’s Italian. Yes.”

Thor spares him a glance. “You’re in a good mood, aren’t you?”

“What makes you think so?” Loki meets his unamused gaze challengingly. 

“How did Carol feel when she realized you got her tangled with us feds?"

"Are you on first name basis with everyone, special agent?"

A bit of a smile has returned to Thor's eyes - very deep-set, very blue eyes under pronounced brow bones. The chiseled slopes of his forehead and nose bridge give way to softer lines of stubbly cheeks and jaws. Thor has a charismatic facial profile _ par excellence _, Loki notes. Maybe that's why he's felt like there is something familiar about the man. Charisma inspires emotional connection and a false sense of intimacy, fast.

Thor doesn’t entertain him with a comeback, just an expectant look, so Loki sighs and picks up the conversation again. “She was pissed,” he says truthfully. “As was I. I didn’t know just the location can get it under federal jurisdiction. And I’m glad she fought to take it back. Look how they’ve abandoned you to us now - no offense.”

Thor laughs with surprisingly no bitterness. “It’s a small case, Loki. It’d have to be something terrible to be federal. Big crime. Crazy serial killer. Sure, we could use some more help, but...” His laughter quiets into something gentle as he turns to him, fully now. “I’d rather it stay this way.”

—

“Still no cause of death, Wanda?"

They’re back in the lab the next day. Wanda gives an eyeroll, but it's Thor's snort that earns a sharp glance from Loki. "What's so funny, special agent?"

Turns out it wasn't a snort, but a poor attempt at muffling a snicker, and now Thor is full on chuckling. "Sorry. It's just the way you keep— going back to it. How the victim died."

“Harping on it,” Wanda mutters and looks straight back at Loki with a shrug, meant to acknowledge the fact that yes, she knows perfectly well what she’s saying and how that paints him.

"He does," Strange says, putting another steel clip on the open slash he's made and pulling the light as well as the tiny lens down. "He talked for three hours before Chief Danvers gave in and let him have the Harris case." He motions to Cho who manipulates a few buttons on the commanding board. An image projects on the screen, too close up to make out anything, but the fleshy color makes it clear it's somewhere inside the body on the examination table.

"Stephen Strange," Loki warns, but Thor cuts in before he can chide the other properly. "Oh? Detective Lindberg did tell me that they would have let it slide as a suicide—”

"Because that's exactly what happened," Loki cuts in sharp.

"Because it was a suicide," Stephen yawns. "Well, until Lindberg rounded up on me at 3AM nagging me about the time of death and convinced me it was a good idea to bypass lab regulation and pull the cadavre from the—”

Loki strides over to still Strange's wrist in an angry grip. Strange doesn't bat an eyelid, only gazes back at him cooly. Loki's lips thin, blanched. "Nobody asked you." 

"I know. I say what I want. Everyone knows anyway, Except, well, I guess." There's a twinkle of laughter in Strange's eyes as he shoots a brief glance at the federal agent. Loki tightens his grip, something terrible coiling in his stomach. Cho is saying something in the background, that he doesn't hear. It's a firm hand on his shoulder that reminds him they're not just locals with locals here. He lets go and steps back - and _ on _ Thor's feet, because feds apparently have as little sense of personal space as they have tact.

It's Wanda who speaks up first, straight-faced. "Sorry you had to see that, Agent Overgaard." She sounds like she's holding back a laugh. 

Thor waves his hand, shushes. "Are they always like this?"

Loki glares, "Don't get chummy too quick, special agent. And whose side are you on, Wanda?"

"I don't know, Kie," Wanda shrugs. "I like him."

"Seriously? Him?"

"Hey!" Thor exclaims theatrically. Loki turns his attention to the images projected on the screen.

"Strange, wait." He holds up a hand. The room quiets. "Everyone look."

Judging by how the lens is positioned, it's pointed at the liver. The microscope is set at 1000x, making the glistening brownish-red tissue onscreen nondescript otherwise. 

After a whole minute of confused silence, Cho turns to him, hesitant. "What... exactly do you mean, Lindberg?"

"That," Loki points, patient as he can. For some reason his eyes dart to Thor, content to see the special agent at least furrowing his brows in what seems to be an attempt at deciphering, or a show of attentiveness. Loki clears his voice, repeats, "That, the mucus. The white bit, right there— Strange, could you please zoom in to two thousand?"

The screen reloads itself in a few short bursts. The minuscule trace of dull white looks clearer now, out of the ordinary. "Does he have any liver conditions?" Thor speaks, earning from Loki a raised brow of approval, and from Cho a shake of the head. "Not really. He does consume alcohol, that I can say, but less than the average adult male," she says, stepping towards the body with sampling tools in hand. "His liver is healthy. He is entirely healthy, really, save for a torn muscle at the back of his thigh and even that is healing."

"It looks like some kind of residual," Strange says, pensive. "Only it's crusted outside of the liver instead of within. So I don't think it's an ingested toxin."

"Maybe we should check the other organs as well, just in case," Cho suggests. "If the same happens everywhere... It could have been from an injected substance."

"Mmhm. Now bring me that thing, Helen," Wanda beckons as she eyes the sample in Cho's careful, gloved hands. Cho manoeuvres the thin glass disc into the GC-MS.

Loki nods. "Perfect," he says, accidentally chorusing with Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GC-MS: Gas chromatograph-mass spectrometer, an equipment used to analyze and identify substances in a sample. It’s often used in forensics.


	4. Natasha IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was supposed to be back since yesterday, right?” She taps the end of her pen against the paper, and looks up when nobody says anything. “...Doesn’t anyone know where he is?”
> 
> The entire twenty-person group stares back at her in confusing silence.

Tuesday starts off gray and cold with a drizzle that makes frizzy hair suffer. What little sun there is barely illuminates even the most protruding gargoyle on the building. Natasha doesn’t particularly mind _ that _. The State Conservatory is a staggering reminder that just because a building is dates back to the 18th century and allegedly architectured by a Frenchman, doesn’t mean it’s going to be pretty. At least in the shadow, its boorishness is fused into a solid silhouette, less hard on the eye.

Their rates fit right into their budget, that’s why. For a small company like the Stork - 32 members including dancers and staff - it’s not an option to rent private rooms for two hundred bucks an hour when they easily practice 45 hours a week. They are struggling enough with making the deadlines _ and _ absences due to injury, Natasha reflects.

She enters the building through the side wings, Hall C, avoiding the main entrance that’s usually cluttered with orchestra members and kid vocalists as it is every Tuesday morning. She throws her empty, still-warm paper cup into the trash bin, glancing over the bulletin board right above. The poor thing is always to the brim with posters and announcements.

“Natasha, you’re late.” 

Natasha turns around at her little brother’s voice and feels her backpack swipe against the bulletin board. She knows something has fallen before she even looks. “I’m not. You’re just early because you have the keys.”

Alyosha laughs and picks up the fallen papers. “But you will be late in two minutes if you don’t hurry. Everyone’s here.” He folds the papers in half, absently tucking it into Natasha’s bag. “Now come on, Eugene is holding open the elevator door.”

Not everyone is there, though. There are some other later arrivals as they change and crack their shoes and tie the ribbon laces. By 8AM two persons still hasn’t come.

“Rikke is still in a cast. She just texted me this morning,” Eugene says. 

Natasha sighs and notes it down. _ Ulrike Andersen, ankle injury. _ “Alright. Who else… oh, Ian.” He has been absent since last week. _ Ian Springer, pulled muscle, leg _, she has noted. “He was supposed to be back since yesterday, right?” She taps the end of her pen against the paper, and looks up when nobody says anything. “...Doesn’t anyone know where he is?”

The entire twenty-person group stares back at her in confusing silence. Beside her, Alyosha furrows his brows in concern, then suddenly darts towards the woman’s lockers. Natasha is too preoccupied to wonder what the hell the boy is doing.

“No one has his number?” She tries again. Someone clears their throat awkwardly. _ God, what kind of teamwork is this? Shame on us all. _ “Alright, I’ll check the register. Now—”

Alyosha is back in the room, right behind her. “Natasha,” he says, breathless. His sudden alarm bleeds terror into Natasha even though she has no idea what’s going on. She looks down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper in Alyosha’s trembling hand and realizes it’s what she knocked down earlier. A sketch of a face, masculine, square jaws and dark blonde hair. Underneath is a small paragraph. _ About 180cm in height and 65kg in weight, wearing a light gray plain t-shirt and navy-blue shorts. If you believe you know this person, please contact us immediately _, followed by a hotline to the Ny-Asgard state police department.

“Isn’t that Ian?” Alyosha swallows. Natasha’s blood runs cold.  



End file.
